The Dragonborn Comes
by AlphaTheGriffin17
Summary: One peaceful night in Rorikstead, a dragon attacks. When all hope seems to be lost, and their courage fails, two heroes arrive and bring help to the little hamlet. You may recognise them... Beware, beware the Dragonborn comes!


**The Dragonborn Comes**

"Damn little brats," Lemkil was saying, as he grabbed his mug. "I swear, they're getting worse everyday.

"So you say," the weary owner Mralkil replied.

"I warn you, Mralkil, never have children. They're no good to anyone I tell you."

"Duly noted, I'll remember that," he told him. The farmer nodded approvingly, then went off to a table. "I should do, you say it everytime you come in here," he muttered quietly to himself.

He picked up a cloth and began to wipe down the counter of crumbs of food and spilled mead. It was the end of another long day in Rorikstead. After working hard in the fields all day, everyone was sitting at the inn, filling their bellies with sweet mead, good food and conversing about the days events. Or rather, in Lemkil's case, complaining about his daughters.

Not that there was much to talk about. Nothing exciting really happened in the little hamlet. There was the odd animal attack, the occasional adventurer wondering through or staying at the inn. For the most part though, the most dangerous thing that might happen would be if Ennis was headbutted by his goat, Grela. Again.

But that was what the old Nord liked about Rorikstead: it was safe. They were out of the way and too small to bother with from bandits and theives. Even if they did, they had enough guards on patrol to help fend them off. No-one ever got hurt, and they were content. Well, some of them were.

Mralkil looked up from his cleaning, to where his son, Erik, was sitting by himself, staring into the middle distance. He really had his heart set on being an adventurer. He hadn't taken it well when he forbade him from doing it and had been giving his father the silent treatment for the past few days.

"Evening Mralkil." The voice of Reldith, the hamlet's Altmer resident, brought him out of his thoughts. "I'll have a mug of ale."

"Coming right up," he told her, filling one up to the brim. "Hard day?"

"It always is," she replied, handing him the gold and taking the mug. "But still, farm work is honest work, that's what I say." She followed his gaze. "Erik still run down?"

"Aye," Mralkil said sadly. "I'm sorry he is, but not for why. He needs to learn it's for his own good."

"Ever think it might be better to let him decide what he wants to do? Earn his own keep?"

"Why should he?" Mralkil asked. "He's got ties here. Helps around the inn, does farming. He's earning his own coin and he's doing it safely."

"Well, you are his father, you know what's best for him. I won't say anything." Mralkil nodded gratefully, as she stood up. "Well, thanks for the mead. Have a good evening."

"Likewise." She walked over to sit with Ennis, leaving Mralkil alone with his thoughts.

He briefly considered that she might be right. Maybe it was better that he follow his dream, do what he wanted. But he dismissed it quickly. Erik had to learn it was for his own good. It was too dangerous out there and he was safe here. They all were.

Or so he thought.

As Mralkil out away his cloth, about to help himself to a bit of mead, he heard an earsplitting noise, that shook the ground itself. It sounded like a bear roaring, but he had never heard one roar like that. They never even came close to Rorikstead, if they did it was rarely.

"What was that?" Ennis asked nervously.

"Probably just thunder," Reldith assured him, "there might be a storm coming in. The rain'll be good for the crop, if that's the case."

"I've never heard thunder sound like that," Erik said, standing up. "I'll go and check."

Mralkil was about to tell his son to sit back down, to let the guards handle whatever it was. Then, one of them came bursting through the door. He sounded out of breath... or scared.

"Everyone!" he cried. "We need to evacuate, immediately!"

"What's going on out there? What is it?" Mralkil asked the terrified man.

"Dragon! There's a dragon coming!" He sounded on the verge of panic. Everyone else soon was too. "Quickly, we must-"

But what they needed to do, they never found out. At that moment, something literally tore through the ceiling. Pieces of wood and metal came crashing to the floor, as a long, scaly neck shot through the hole, grabbed the guard in its mouth and pierced him with razor sharp teeth. Screaming, he was tossed aside and sent flying into the night.

The very head of the beast was like a mammoth in size. Each of the teeth were the size of a man's arm, the eyes like fists. Its head was adorned with wicked horns, scales as red as blood. It fixed them all in a cold, unfeeling stare. Then, it opened its mouth and a torrent of fire rushed out.

The fire didn't hit anyone, but the wooden inn was set alight in seconds. People were screaming, running, trying to escape the blaze. Despite the fear that gripped him, Mralkil leaped into action, dashing around the counter and waving his arms.

"Alright," he shouted over the roar of the fire, "everyone, stay low! Don't breathe in the smoke! Keep calm, and let's make our way to the door!"

As he crouched low, trying his best not to breath in the smoke, he still couldn't quite believe it. They'd heard that a dragon attacked the western watchtower near Whiterun, but they'd never actually believed that the story was true. Maybe they didn't want to. What could they do if a dragon attacked? They were farmers, not fighters.

Everyone did as he said, lying low on the floor and lifting pieces of clothing to cover their mouths and noses. Trying to see through the haze of smoke and flame, Mralkil led them towards the door. They would be alright, almost there...

Then, to his utter dismay, he discovered that the fire had reached the front door. They would never be able to make it through there. At least there was still the back door, they could leave that way.

He turned and was about to instruct everyone as to what to do, when he saw Erik, pulling Ennis over his shoulder. He looked up and saw a large beam of timber was about to give way. It would fall on top of him.

Dashing forward, he pushed both his son and Ennis out of the way, just as the wood came crashing down. It crushed him, pinning him to the floor.

"Father!" Erik was by his side. "I'll get you out, hold on..." He grabbed the wood, but jumped back as it burned him.

"Erik lad," Mralkil started, coughing as inhaled some smoke, "get everyone out... out the back way... leave me..."

"No, I won't leave you here!" He made another attempt to lift the wood, but the heat was too great.

"Don't argue with me!" he yelled at his son. "Just go, get out of-"

"The back door's blocked as well!" he heard Lemkil cry. "There's no way out, we're trapped!"

"Father..." Erik looked desperately at him, "...what do we do?"

Mralkil was at a loss. There was no way out, the building was burning around them, a dragon was upon them and he was trapped under an increasingly hot piece of wood. Maybe... the gods had decided that their time had come.

"Erik..." He beckoned his son close, gripping his arm. "Stay close to me lad... it'll be fine..."

"Yes..." Erik embraced his father as best he could. "I'll see you in Sovngarde."

"Save some mead for me now, you hear?" He laughed, which turned into a cough.

Lying there, Mralkil remembered another part of that story, of the dragon at the watchtower. They said that a man had fought the dragon, taken its very soul. Could that be true? Could he really exist? If so, where was he?

The flames climbed higher, the screaming grew louder. It wouldn't be long now. They would soon be in Shor's Hall, free from a mortal existence. At least he was going with Erik, his son. His only regret was that he hadn't managed to keep him safe...

Suddenly, he heard the sound of the door being smashed in. The intense heat was replaced by a sharp chill. Cold winds were blowing through the fire, fighting it back. But that sort of thing didn't happen naturally. Only one thing could be causing this: magic.

Shifting his head, Mralkil could see a robed, hooded figure, a woman he could tell, with ice shooting out of her palms. Everyone was staring in awe at them, her hood moving as she looked around at them all.

"My name is Brelyna Maryon," she told the group. "I'm here to help, now everyone out. Move!"

Snapping out of their stupor, they rushed to obey, running out of the door. She began ushering people out of the door, urging them to hurry as she fought back the flames. She then dashed over to where he and his son were, bending low.

He could see her face beneath the hood. She had the ash-grey skin and deep-red eyes of a Dunmer. Concern was etched in her expression, as was a fierce determination. She doused the beam with ice, then turned to Erik.

"Help me lift this!" she commanded. Her voice was young, almost musical but had enough authority that Erik obeyed. Then, to Mralkil: "Don't worry, we'll have you out in no time."

Heaving, with their combined efforts, the two of them shifted the beam enough for Mralkil to shuffle out. Erik wrapped an arm around his shoulder, lifitng him and helping him out into the cool night. He gulped down breaths of moist, cold air, he looked back at the inn.

Most of the fire had been extinguished, but there was still a lot of damage done to it. The elf, Brelyna, sprinted out of the burnt wreck, her hands still glowing with unnatural light.

"Is everyone alright?" They all answered yes. "Good. Now, stay here and get your strength back."

"Was that a dragon?" a panicked Lemkil asked. "Where is it? We're all going to die!"

"Calm down, please!" Brelyna ordered. "Yes, that was a dragon. But don't worry, my boyfriend is helping your guards deal with it."

"What do you mean your-"

"Look!" She pointed in a direction and everyone turned.

There was the massive form of the dragon. It's head, tail and claws were swinging as it fought a group of five figures figures. One of them was shooting balls of fire out of his hands, leaping this way and that. He was coordinating the guards efforts and, by the look of it, was succeeding.

The beast gave a loud roar and took off into the sky, drops of blood dripping from its body. Remarkable that they had managed to hurt it at all. The robed man then motioned to the guards, leading them over to the rest of the villagers.

He too was a dark elf. His robes were different to Brelyna's and he didn't have a hood. His brown hair was cut to a reasonable length, with no facial hair on his chin and a sappihire circelt atop his head. Even with the robes, Mralkil could tell he was rather skinny, not well built. His grey skin was lighter, but his eyes were much more red. He could see something dancing in them, an element of mischief that a child might have.

When he reached them, he had a wide smile set upon his face, as if he'd walked into a room where his closest friends had prepared a surprise party for him. Brelyna's face, he noticed, lit up like the night sky as he smiled.

"Brelyna, my dear!" He had a boyish, youthful tone. Mralkil almost laughed himself at his attitude to it all. "Saved everyone here, I see?"

"Everyone in the inn, my love," she reported. "There might still be some people in the farmhouse and the manor over there."

"There are!" Lemkil cried. "My little girls are in there!" So much for good-for-nothing brats, Mralkil thought.

"Right," the elf said, turning to the guards, "you, get to the farmhouse. Get those girls out of there and bring them here. You, head to the manor and the same for everyone in there. Go!"

The guards nodded and went running off without question. This elf, this man, for his light-hearted attitude, must have really prove himself. A few minutes later, they returned with the twins and the town founder, Rorik and Jouane Manette. The latter of the two rushed to the male Dunmer, relief in his eyes.

"Thank the gods you're here! We heard the noise, but were unsure as to what to do. Is everyone else safe?"

"Apart from one, unfortunate guard who is somewhere in that direction," Sauron told him gravely.

"Poor Brenal," mumered one of the guards, "only two days to retirement."

"We can mourn him later," Sauron told them. "Right now, we have a situation. That dragon will be back, we only managed to make him a little edgy. All of you, stay here and defend the people. Try and get them out if you can. Brelyna and I will take on the dragon."

"Wait a minute," Mralkil found himself yelling, "who put you in charge? Who in Talos' name are you anyway?"

At that moment, the wind rushed as the dragon swooped low overhead. It let off a ball of fire at Rorik's manor, setting that alight too. It then circled back around, beginning to fly straight at them. The elf looked at Mralkil, a fire in his eyes as bright as what the dragon was spewing.

"My name is Sauron Dredena. And, basically..." He turned to face the incoming monster, no fear or trepidation. Flaring out his hands, he tossed more fireballs at the dragon.

They struck it, but it was still coming. Everyone began to jump aside, but he remained. As the dragon swooped closer, he drew in a deep breath, taking a battle stance. It was going to hit him!

"FUS-RO-DAH!" The shout shook the earth, causing the dragon to career away. It swooped back over again, roaring furiously.

The elf, named Sauron, turned back to those assembled. He smiled at them again. "Any more questions?" An awed silence followed. "Excellent. Well, wish us luck. Come on dear."

"Right behind you, love." Running side-by-side, the two elves cast more magic at the dragon, getting its attention.

Ushered away by the guards, Mralkil and the others took shelter as far away from the battle as they could. They did, however, remain to see the battle unfold. To see if their mysterious saviours would survive or merely become the dragon's next meal.

The dragon landed before them, breathing more fire at the two. It was a majestic, terrifying sight to behold. He found it incredible how they didn't simply run, in the face of such power and ferocity. But they stood their ground and fought. And what a fight it was.

They both brought something different to the fray. Brelyna battled with such grace and fluidity, it seemed more like she was dancing than fighting. She threw fire, shot arrows when she could and summoned daedra from the planes of Oblivion to aid her in her efforts.

Sauron, conversly, fought with a ferocity that he would never have expected from just looking at him. He dodged and dived, as quick on his feet as a Khajiit. His spell-casting too was fast and furious, tossing balls of flame without stopping, always going for the dragon's head or wings.

He seemed to tease his foe as well, again with child-like enthusiasm. There would be times he would stand still, gesturing at the beast and then leaping just out of the reach of either its mouth or claws, much to the anger of the dragon. Once again, the line between bravery and foolishness was a thin one.

Then, he did something unbelieveable. As the dragon attempted to bite him, he grabbed onto its horns and hoisted himself up. Then, he swung up and around and whipped out a knife, with a flash of steel. Before the dragon could react, he plunged the blade into the monster's beady yellow eye.

It let out an ear-splitting roar, its head writhing and flailing. This became so violent that Sauron was flung off by the force of it, landing with a _smack _on the hard ground. Despite this, Brelyna gave a shot of concentrated flames at this open wound.

The dragon's screams could probably be heard in Whiterun. It staggered on its feet, blood pouring into pools from the wound. Its legs gave way, the wings buckled and the head collapsed. It moved no more. Remarkably, unbelievably, they had killed it.

Satisfied, he watched as Brelyna rushed to the prone form on theground, as did a number of guards. Soon, everyone else was following as well. They wanted to see what had happened to this foolhardy, brave-hearted man who had saved them.

"Sauron," Brelyna was saying, as she and the guards helped him to his feet, "that was either the bravest thing I've ever seen or the stupidest thing you've ever done."

"Well, it worked didn't it?" He shook his head when he stood up, grinning like a madman.

"I suppose, but be a little more careful next time." She slapped her forehead. "Oh wait, I forgot who I was talking to."

He chuckled at that. "Dragon riding, for professionals only. Don't try it at home kids."

"Are you alright?" Jouane arrived and looked him over. "I was a healer in my younger days. Anything broken?"

"Don't worry, nothing broken but my pride." He began to walk towards the dragon, though the guards warned him against it. "Watch, this is the fun part."

As he approached the massive carcas, it began to glow. Like someone had set it alight, a firey clow came from the scales. Gradually, scale and skin dissolved away, leaving just the gigantic bones. At the same time, a stream of purple light flew from the dragon and at... no, into Sauron.

It was over in seconds. Everyone stared in awed silence. One of the guards spoke up.

"It can't be... you took its very soul!"

"I don't believe it..." Rorik stepped forward. "You are... are you really...?"

"Yep." He gave another smile. "Dragonborn and proud of it."

Then, they were all cheering and clapping, even Mralkil. Sauron pulled Brelyna in beside him, so she shared in the appreciation of their efforts. At the end of it all, Rorik stepped forward and shook their hands.

"The people of Rorikstead are in your debt," he told them. "Is there anything we can do for you in return? We would offer you a room for the night but..."

"We just did what we had to do," he said modestly. "We were on our way back to Whiterun, when we saw your... predicament."

"Then, we shall let you be on your way," Rorik declared. "Just remember, from now on, you will always be welcome here."

"Here." He pulled out a bag of coins and gave them to him. "In case you need for rebuilding your fine inn."

"Thank you, again," he said, quite disbelievingly. "Safe travels!"

Sauron bowed to them, Brelyna inclined her head. They were about to walk off to two horses they had tethered nearby, when-

"Mr. Sauron, wait!" One of the twins, Sissel, ran forward to him, tugging on his leg. "I have something to tell you!"

"Get back here you little brat!" Her father didn't look happy. He never did. "Don't bother the nice man!"

"It's no bother at all, _sir,_" he assured him, disdain evident in his voice. He knelt so he was at eye-level with her. "What's your name, little one?"

"Sissel, sir," she said nervously.

"Sissel. That's a lovely name." She smiled brightly, more than Mralkil ever seen her smile. "Now, what do you want to tell me?"

"I had a dream that there was a good dragon," the child told him breathlessly. "He was old and gray, but he wasn't scary." She became embarrassed, staring at her feet. "Sorry, that sounds silly..."

"No, not at all. I hope I get to meet this dragon someday. I only get to see the mean ones." He was either humoring her, or he genuinely believed her. Something told Mralkil it was the latter. "Tell me, Sissel, do you have any talent in magic?"

"Yes!" she affirmed excitedly. "Mr Jouane is teaching me, he says I'm getting good!"

"Is that so?" The old man nodded. "Well, I'll tell you this. I'm Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold, a place where you can learn about magic. Brelyna here was an student there."

"It's true," she said. "The College is always willing to take in talented young mages, like you."

"R-really?" Sissel looked like she was hardly daring to believe it.

"Really." He put a hand on her shoulder. "When I get back, I'm going to put your name down and, when your old enough, you can come join us."

She stood there, mouth hanging open. Then, she grabbed him in a hug, which he returned. "Thank you, thank you Mr. Sauron! Will you be there when I come?"

"I gurantee it." He smiled, released her and set off again. Brelyna gave the child one last, gentle smile before following him.

They all watched as the two elves mounted their steeds. They both waved from their saddles, kicked at the sides and galloped off into the night.

Mralkil couldn't help but smile. That man, and his loving companion, had given their little village so much in just a few minutes than anyone ever had in years. They'd given little Sissel much needed hope, saved them from certain destruction and willingly gave from his own pocket to get them back on their feet.

They all gathered in what was left of the Frostfruit Inn, filled their tankards with what little was left of the mead and raised their mugs in a toast, Rorik and Jouane drinking with them.

"To Sauron and Brelyna, the saviours of Rorikstead. May their lives be long and their deeds be great. To the Dragonborn!"

"To the Dragonborn!" They chorused, swigging down their mead.

As they drank, Mralkil looked at Erik. Maybe, in light of all this, it would be better for him to follow his dream. If Rorikstead was no safer than anywhere else, maybe it would be better if he was out doing good in the world. He resolved that, tomorrow, he would go into Whiterun and buy his son some armor.

Besides, it wasn't like money would be a problem. Those dragon bones might fetch for quite a bit of coin...


End file.
